


Penelope

by lemmasyne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Fix-It, Episode: s15e17 Unity, Gen, Post-Episode: s15e17 Unity, Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemmasyne/pseuds/lemmasyne
Summary: Coda to 15.17: Sam and Dean hug and make up.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 24





	Penelope

**Author's Note:**

> :'(

He came to Sam’s room at midnight, a dark figure in the doorway. He was crying. Sam got out of bed and crossed the room to him, and he went to his knees on the carpeted floor. “Hey,” he said. Dean said,

“I can’t, Sammy. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Sam touched his head, the back of his neck. He was damp with sweat. He’d been lying awake, or tossing and turning, dozing, dreaming. He pressed his face to Sam’s knees, and in the dim room, lit by the glowing numbers on Sam’s digital clock, he wept into Sam’s sweatpants. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I fucking pulled a gun on you, Sammy. It’s not okay.”

When he pulled Dean up by his armpits, Dean came unwillingly. He met Sam’s gaze in the darkness. He closed his eyes. Sam saw the smudges of grey that were the lines of his eyelashes. “Hey,” he said.

It was quiet now. Sam listened to them breathe, looked at the shiny patches of wetness on Dean’s cheeks.

“You know – ” he said, “we’re good, right? I don’t know why, but we are.”

Dean opened his eyes. Sam had seen him battered and bleeding, seen him dead, still, what he couldn’t bear to see in Dean’s face was a tiny, glimmering ember of hope. He pulled Dean’s face down to his shoulder so that he wouldn’t have to see it. He said, “It doesn’t change anything though. Jack’s still dying. Chuck’s still gone,” and Dean said,

“Yeah. You’re right,” and Sam put his other arm round him. He crushed Dean against him. It was midnight, and the bunker was silent, and he felt the tiny movements of Dean’s eyelashes on his exposed collarbone and again the tears soaking into his shirt.

In the end Dean hugged back. He was warm and strong and Sam felt his own heartbeat slowing, matching his.

“Should get some sleep,” said Dean. He loosed his arms and stepped back. In the dark his face was a ruin, the shadows of his eyes like craters on the surface of the moon, and Sam felt the cold returning to fill the space between them. He became aware of Dean’s shaking hands – Dean’s hands were always steady – and his heart-rate was picking up again. It was the fear in his blood.

Dean would go to the kitchen and drink a nightcap. Maybe sit with Jack, maybe hold his hand, even though Jack wouldn’t be able to feel it. Maybe drink another nightcap. Maybe fall asleep in the chair, and startle awake. He’d see Jack again – maybe for a moment he’d forgotten. He’d go get the bottle of whiskey. He’d hover outside Sam’s door, listening for the sounds Sam made when he was having the worst dreams – Sam knew he did that. He’d drink a third nightcap.

Sam put both his hands on his shoulders. “Dean, you should—” he said. He drew him back into a hug. He knew he was clinging to him, and although he wanted to loosen his hold, he didn’t. Dean was holding him just as tightly. His hand was on the back of Sam’s head, curving round the shape of his skull. Sam squeezed his shoulder. “Just sleep here, okay?”

He let go of Dean and turned his back to him to get back into bed. Dean appeared at his shoulder, silently. Sam felt a jolt of relief when he got in beside him. He turned over onto his side to face him and Dean did the same. He couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he could look at him. He put one arm over Dean’s waist. Dean closed his eyes. Sam looked at the fragile skin of his eyelids and listened to his breathing

Sometime later Dean’s hand clutched at nothing. Sam withdrew his arm to touch his fingers instead and Dean caught at the front of his shirt with his other hand. Sam shifted closer to him. Dean opened his eyes and Sam looked back. He smiled, and Dean smiled too.

“You gonna sleep?”

“Yeah,” said Dean.

Sam put his arm back around his waist, and felt Dean’s weight settle against him. In the morning they wouldn’t talk about it.

_Just so welcome to Penelope was the sight of her husband,_

_and she held him tight in her arms and did not let go._

_And rose-fingered Dawn would have risen as they were still weeping_

_if Athena had not come up with another idea_

_and held back the night at the western edge of the sky._


End file.
